Coffee Crone: Taming Coffee Blog

October 30 2006

A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds

I'm drinking some mighty fine coffee this AM, India Dewan Estate Kohinoor AA, that I got as part of a sample pack from Sweet Marias (scroll down). I don't purchase a sample pack every time I order coffee, but it sure is a great way to try a half pound or pound of something Tom and Maria stock that I might not think to buy myself.

The only downside is that by the time I actually roast it, there is a good chance it is no longer available for purchase. Such was the case with today's fine brew.

I'm fine with the here today gone tomorrow nature of fine coffee. Some of my roasting buddies fall so deeply in love with one or another bean that they build huge stashes and grieve when a particular favourite is no longer available. I, on the other hand, enjoy this aspect of home roasting. Heck, if I wanted to drink the same thing every day, I would buy 100 pounds of my favourite blend (SM Moka Kadir) once a year and be done with it.

I am a huge fan of consistent quality, but not all that fond of any other kind of consistency. I like to be surprised, even by my coffee.

It's so easy to fall into a rut, especially when you don't have kidlets at home keeping things fresh, or a job with built in challenges. You can end up cooking the same meals day after day and having the same conversations with your spouse year after year.

Having an on-line connection to great recipe sites can keep mealtimes fresh, but it takes something a little less virtual to keep a marriage alive.

One Halloween, many years ago, my grandmother's friend Iona took this reality perhaps a little too far. Apparently things were getting a little stale between Iona and her husband Joe, so she decided to spice things up. After dinner, she told Joe she was going out for a bit and asked him to take care of the trick-or-treat duties.

Iona then went over to my grandmother's house, where she changed into the traditional teenage candy mission costume: a ratty long coat, a stocking hat, and, to add her own twist, nothing else. She applied black grease paint to her face, slung a pillow case over her shoulder as a goody bag, and back to her house she went. She waited in the shadows to make sure the coast was clear before she rang the doorbell. Joe answered the door, no doubt with the scowl we adults reserve for those who are clearly too old to trick-or-treat, and turned to the candy bowl to get the proper amount of candy required to guard against teenage vindictiveness. It was clear to Iona that the ruse was working just fine.

Joe turned back to the doorway, bribe in hand, to see Iona, disguise still in place, standing there with the ratty coat open, and her strangely unfamiliar body, in all its plump glory, on display.

It was quite the surprise, all right. Joe backed up quickly and went ass over teakettle, cracking his head on a brick planter, and passing out cold. An ambulance was called, and Iona, still nekkid under her costume, spent the rest of the evening in the ER with her spouse.

I learned one of those life-lessons from this. I'll be surprising RT for Halloween tomorrow night, but my big surprise is along the line of sautéing some shallots in with the roasted asparagus we're having with our broiled salmon.